


Protected, Sheltered, Loved

by Karla1209



Series: Missing Scenes [2]
Category: Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: Established Relationship, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Old Shatterhand is wounded, POV Winnetou, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 05:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16257494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karla1209/pseuds/Karla1209
Summary: Winnetou, Old Shatterhand, Dick Hammerdull, Pitt Holbers, Detektive Treskow and the chiefs Matto Schahko and Apanatschka are on their way to the Saint-Louis park, to find Old Surehand and warn him of the General, who is on his trail. In Jefferson City Old Shatterhand had a set-to with a group of rowdies led by Toby Spencer. That gang are also on their way into the Rocky Mountains.After having made camp for the night Winnetou spots an eavesdropper, he takes out via a shot from his knee. Despite that, Old Shatterhand is wounded.Additional scene to „Old Surehand III“





	Protected, Sheltered, Loved

**Author's Note:**

> For your consideration: This fic is less a question of „missing“ action. Instead I wanted to tell a story contained in Old Surehand III from Winnetou’s POV. Direct quotes (also translated) lifted from „Karl May: Old Surehand III, Chapter 4, Im Kui-erant-yuaw“. Source: http://gutenberg.spiegel.de/buch/old-surehand-iii-2320/4 (last viewed on July 26th, 2018) are in italics.
> 
> Thank you for translating, esteven! English is not our first language!

**Protected, Sheltered, Loved  
**

 

His wide open eyes had betrayed the man that had been hiding in the shrubs across from us. I fired at him and was certain to have killed the eavesdropper. Simultaneously, another shot was heard. This told me that the stranger hiding in the clump of bushes had not been alone.

I had to find out with whom and with how many we were dealing with, thus I leapt to my feet and jumped across the small creek to pursue the person I had been unable to shoot. I had hardly risen when a blinding pain struck me, a pain I was unable to classify exactly as it seemed to permeate my whole being, and not just a single member or site on my body.

What had that been? Had I been hit by the second shot? In the light from the still burning fire I looked down, checking-up on myself. The twitch had disappeared; there was no blood on my person. Apparently I was unhurt. Confused by this short if intense sensation I had hesitated for a moment. My companions had made quite a racket while trying to douse the fire and that tore me from my rigour. I had to pursue the second eavesdropper.

“My brothers may remain calm and wait!” With these words echoing in the sudden darkness I rushed through the shrubs, across the creek and hurried crouched along a little stretch of its banks, not worrying about what would happen behind me. I needed to escape the noises my startled companions made in order to be able to listen better for the escaped man.

It worked, and only a short while later I heard the hurried steps and gasps of the second eavesdropper. I followed him at once. Soon I had very nearly overtaken him to see his shape in the pale moonlight. It became easy for me to be hard on his heels. For a short distance we crossed the plain countryside until we reached a clump of shrubs similar to the one where we had set up camp. Only here, five riders waited with seven horses. The man exclaimed “We’ll have to be up and away at once. I think Smitty got nabbed! The injun shot at us. Never mind, because I got my revenge. That cursed Old Shatterhand who battered my hand is dead.”

I had stopped walking and lowered myself to the ground when I realized that the paleface was now close to his destination. When his final words reached my ear, I was grateful that my face was close to the earth. Even before my mind realized completely what I had just heard, my heart had understood and a low moan escaped me against my will.

And suddenly I realised: The pain that had coursed through me near our campsite had had nothing to do with my body but everything with my soul. It had been mortally wounded the instant that pale dog’s bullet had killed my blood brother.

Fury and anger spread through me, ripping away any consideration, any cautiousness, like a torrential stream. I wanted to jump up and throw myself at that man who had just stated to have taken from me the most beloved person of my life. I desired to kill him, not fast and painless but slowly so he would suffer a thousand deaths. He should get an image of how each day of the rest of my life would feel if he had uttered the truth: an endless dark torture – without Sharlih, without my light, my love, my life.

But instead I stayed where I was. I knew that I had to let this storm pass not to endanger myself. I dug my fingers into the grass, my face close to the earth. I breathed in the smell of damp soil, felt my tears start to cloud my vision and waited for my devastating rage to subside. It was immediately followed by an emptiness that seemed to rob me of any strength I still had left. This was just as dangerous as my previous rage. “That cursed Old Shatterhand is dead!” resounded through my senses, my body, through my soul. That echo did not die, but squeezed my chest so hard, I could hardly draw another breath.

“You have to get up, they will find you else.” Another voice rose through the mist of my all-consuming grief. It seemed to powerfully urge me that I answered its call and finally regained control of my faculties. I had to find out with whom I needed to deal. I had to listen and discover who had taken away the dearest I had. I needed to see the man whom I would follow until the ends of the earth to let him feel the anguish he had caused me.

I rose carefully to dart closer to that clump of shrubs into which the evader had vanished in the meantime. I now discovered that his name was Toby Spencer, the felon that had run into Sharlih at Mother Thick, and whose hand had been shattered by my brother’s bullet. I vowed to break each and every bone in Spencer’s body as soon as I had taken him prisoner.

“He is dead, otherwise he would have followed by now or called out for help. We have to be away, because they will start looking for us.” Spencer’s words intruded upon my thoughts. Yes, he was right to flee from me, but no matter where he tried to hide, I would trace him, would follow him, would revenge Sharlih. For now though, I had to let him go scot-free because the palefaces had the majority and I had to return to our companions, return to my blood brother –

My heartbeat reverberated in my ears, and each beat pulsed through me with a mix of rage and paralysing despair. I retraced my steps, fastened the body of the other eavesdropper to my lariat, leaped the creek again to then pull the corpse across as well.

I had to alert my companions still waiting in the darkness to my presence to avoid them taking me for a foe. _“Light the fire again!”_

As soon as they understood, the logs flared up, glowing brightly in my direction. I had wished to avoid this because I was not certain if my face did not show traces of the tears that had previously burned in my eyes. My body felt numb, so I was unable to tell whether they had flowed down my cheeks or not.

But all my thoughts came to naught the moment I heard his voice – Sharlih’s voice.

Could this be true? Was I mistaken? Were my senses deceived into letting me hear what I wanted to hear, or had Spencer lied? Was my Sharlih alive?

I pulled impatiently at the dead body that I had tied down and that now hampered me to emerge from the clump of shrubs that I had to leave behind to ascertain with my eyes what my ears told me.

But before I had negotiated the shrubs, he arrived to help me with that corpse. He, whom I loved more than my life. My heart stopped a beat and my legs weakened when I recognized his frame.

Toby Spencer had been mistaken. My blood brother had not died. Sharlih lived!

He stood tall before me, alive, lit by the brightly flaring fire, his searching eyes on me. I let go of the lasso at once to stumble towards him those few steps that still separated us. Everything in me cried out to fold him in my arms, to kiss him. I needed not only to see and hear him, but also feel that he was unharmed. But I knew this was not to be. Our companions had no knowledge of the true nature of our love. They were unable to conceive that we were one in a sense they did not understand or would ever accept.

Thus I contented myself with taking Old Shatterhand’s hands and send him a message with a silent look, a message I was not permitted to speak out loud. “My Sharlih, my life. I love you so much, I thought I had lost you.” Instead I voiced: _”Over there, I saw a face and shot at it; there was another man there too, one I had not noticed; he, too, took a shot. I leaped across to discover if there were more people. I heard one try to escape and hurried after him. Beyond the copse of shrubs were five riders and seven horses. The fugitive joined them and said that he had shot Old Shatterhand, but that his partner had been killed by Winnetou. They were all palefaces. No red person was with them because the one who bestrode one of the spare horses spoke clean English. They waited for some time, but when the one Winnetou had shot did not arrive, the fugitive exclaimed: >He must be dead. Otherwise he would have joined us or called for help. We must be away because they will come for us; but my wish has been fulfilled. I have taken my revenge because Old Shatterhand is dead!< Winnetou startled at his friend’s death, hurried back to where he had taken aim and found the dead body of the man he had shot. How he rejoiced when he found his brother Shatterhand alive!”_

I wondered at myself for having been able to utter these sentences without my voice breaking because I still felt the constriction in my chest which demanded to dissolve itself. By now, these were no longer tears of despair but tears of relief that wanted to break free.

Despite my outward calm, Sharlih must have realized how I felt because he pressed my hand tighter – his way of telling me, unbeknownst to others, that everything was fine, that Spencer had erred, that he was truly alive.

His firm hand told me that my own hands were trembling and that my soul still cried out to wrap my arms around him. I wanted to lie down with him, my ear on his chest, so that I could hear his heart beating, his breath on my skin. But nothing like that was permitted for now.

Sharlih likely felt my desperation because his eyes locked with mine, and in his I read his deep concern for me, coupled with his promise to comfort me as soon as an opportunity arose. The affection in his eyes was balm to my churning thoughts. I calmed down slowly, only to recognize something else in his gaze: Pain!

Parting my hands from his, I took a step back for a closer look at him. Then I saw the dark stains of blood that soaked one of his trouser legs.

Sharlih was wounded! That pale dog had not killed him, but had hit him nevertheless.

Instantly I demanded to know what had happened. I pressed my blood brother to sit down so I could take a closer look at his wound. He protested against my words because he believed to jeopardise us should we stay where we were. He relented because I would not hear of any of this. No danger in the world would keep me from staunching the flow of blood that weakened my beloved friend.

In the blaze from the fire, I saw that the bullet had lodged in his thigh as soon as he had uncovered his leg. It was still stuck and I knew it had to be extracted. Again, Sharlih spoke against this, not because he did not see the necessity of the treatment or because he dreaded it, but because he was convinced that we would not be safe. Again, I asserted myself, knowing well that the palefaces had fled. Our companions would also guard our camp with their primed guns, and thus cover us.

I asked Old Shatterhand to lie as close as possible to the fire, so that there was sufficient light for me. First I heated the blade of my knife to cleanse it, then I cooled it down in the small brook. I also used its water to wipe the blood from Sharlih’s thigh for me to better see the wound.

When I touched it, I felt him tense up. How I would have loved to spare him the ordeal that had to follow inevitably, but there was no other way. The ball had to be extricated else it would poison his blood. I knew I had to cause him more pain to save him.

Very carefully I touched the rugged rims of his wound. The angle of it showed clearly that it had not been a direct hit, but a bullet that had hit a rock and then ricocheted. Thus, the ball had been deformed and caused a much larger injury than usual.

While I examined Sharlih’s leg, our companions had taken up their stations, thus diverting their attention from my blood brother. Not having all eyes on him would make it easier for him to endure the treatment. It also afforded him the opportunity to touch my arm, whispering “Do not worry, Winnetou. Everything will be fine. It is really nothing, just a scratch.” He smiled so very affectionately at me that it was hard for me not to succumb to my wish to kiss him.

But I had to finish a task on which I had to concentrate. My knife had cooled down, so I was able to commence. “I have to search out the bullet and cut it out.” I heard the compassion that coloured my explanation against my will.

“Just do it, I am all set,” was Sharlih’s straightforward reply.

My fingers tracked the path the bullet had taken until I felt the hard metal. The projectile had been stopped by the bone and now stuck on its surface. When I withdraw my hand, it was dark crimson from Sharlih’s blood.

My fury against Toby Spencer who had cause my beloved’s situation surfaced once more. It grew and grew until I realized how laboured Old Shatterhand’s breath had become, how he had desperately dug his hands into the grass left and right of him to handle the pain I caused him.

And this was only the beginning of the treatment. I still had to wield my knife and later also use the sap of plants and herbs that prevented infections but nevertheless caused a burning, hardly bearable pain. I took up the sharp blade, but searched my brother’s face first. He mutely nodded, closed his eyes and tilted his head back to indicate that he was ready for what was to come.

“Forgive me.” I whispered when expanding the wound slightly. More blood welled up and made my sight more difficult, but in the end I had to feel rather than see where my fingers had to dig into Sharlih’s thigh. I must not be diverted from my blood brother’s short sharp intakes of breath that spoke of his agonies.

If only I were able to take his place, if only his pain was mine, so that I could spare him his. But I knew that neither commiseration nor procrastination of what was necessary was called for. I had to act, and fast, even when it was difficult. I inserted the tip of my blade into the track of the wound and towards the bullet, trying to extricate it. Unfortunately I did not succeed at first. Twice my knife slipped off and I became unsteady when hearing Sharlih’s low moans.

On third try my efforts were met with success and I held the deformed ball in my hands. As fast as possible I cleaned first my fingers then once more his wound. Then I covered it with the clean cloths that Sharlih always kept with him turning them into a firm bandage that would staunch the bleed and keep the open wound clean. This would not stop the wound fever, though. For that it needed different remedies and more pain to come.

When the bandage was as firm as I wished it, I looked up into Old Shatterhand’s face. His eyes were still closed, his features tense, his fingers still dug into the grass and soil and sweat sheened his brow.

Carefully, I loosened his clenched hands, then turned around. Our companions’ attention was still riveted towards the water and the nighttime prairie. Thus I dared caress my friend’s cheek, whispering “It is done. For the moment Winnetou will no longer cause you pain.”

He opened his blue eyes, and their expression held only tenderness, understanding and love. It caused warmth in my heart, warmth I would have loved to share with him. But this was neither the place nor the time, much as I yearned for it.

“It was not you who caused my pain, it was Spencer. Please do not reproach yourself”. My blood brother spoke softly and put his hand over mine, snuggling his cheek into our combined touch. It was more than my troubled heart could bear, so I withdrew hastily from him, turning to pack our blankets and weapons so that we were ready to look out for a safer camp.

Obviously our companions helped without hesitation, so within a short space of time we were on our horses to follow the small stream for a considerable distance until we had reassured ourselves of a new campsite.

With quick, familiar movements we set up camp once more. This time our companions did all the work, while Apanatschka, Matto Shahko and I searched the area for tracks and for those plants needed to prevent inflammation and wound fever.

As soon as we had found those, we returned to our low fires and I lowered myself to the ground near Sharlih who had a good idea what kind of treatment would be in store for him.

“Sharlih knows what Winnetou has to do now?” I was concerned. “I know it, and I beg you not to be considerate of me,” was his reply. “This injury is a nuisance that must not keep us any more than it already does. If I succumb to fever then nothing would be gained. My brother may act with a clear conscience.”

I sighed. He was right. Still, I found it highly difficult to cause him such agony. “Let me help take the bandage off.” My blood brother spoke in a lighter tone, likely to calm me down with his voice as well as his thumb’s short caress across my knuckles when our fingers touched during our task.

When his wound was bared again, I formed a leaf into a fitting plug that I saturated with the corrosive sap of the Dentschu-tatah. This I inserted into the open injury. I knew of the sap’s effect, and also knew of the relentless fire that must course through my blood brother’s leg. But he smiled as befitted a mighty warrior in this situation.

Nontheless: how I would have loved to take him in my arms. How I would have asked him to allow his pain to show, to save his strength for his recuperation. I knew though, that this was not only impossible under the eyes of our companions but also, that Sharlih would never have given expression to his ordeal had we been on our own just as little as I would have done. We were both chiefs, proud men that showed no outward weakness – if only not to cause pain and sorrow to others.

There was something I could do though, and that was to audibly voice my pride in his self-command. _“I know, Old Shatterhand is bound to the stake at the moment. Since he smiles in the face of pain, he would also laugh when tied to a real stake. Howgh!”_

As soon as this phase in the treatment had been weathered, we drew lots over the night watches. Old Shatterhand was exempt so that he could rest and recover from the exertions he had been through. I would have loved to watch Sharlih find sleep, but since I had drawn the first lot I had to contend myself with looking at my blood brother affectionately before I left for my first round of our campsite.

I concentrated on our security for the time of my watch, then I woke Apanatschka who was the next in line and finally lay down close to Sharlih. Carefully I felt his brow, but to my relief did not find it unreasonably hot. I listened to his calm breaths that should lull myself to sleep through their calming evenness. But much as I tried to, I did not succeed.

Alone with my thoughts in the dead hours of the night, my anguish took hold of me again. I had felt it when Spencer had claimed that Sharlih was dead. It unfurled and spread cold, crippling despair within me. Only after a while I realized that I was truly trembling. I tried to suppress it by wrapping myself tighter into my blanket, but it was of no avail. “You might have lost him!” echoed through my mind and soul with every heart-beat. The thought of never gazing again into his blue eyes, never again feeling his hand in mind, never tasting his lips again on mine, never unite with him in love again tore a low moan from me, much against my will.

I tried to call myself to order with all my strength, but the more I fought against the cold darkness in my heart, the more powerful it grew. Not long until I found I could no longer breathe because that black emptiness constricted my lungs. To my despair I felt tears spilling from my eyes. I was unable to fight them. They spilled silently and incessantly while my body trembled and I had to concentrate all my remaining will power on neither crying openly nor wailing. Never before had I been in this condition! I wanted to get up, to leave and to hide in the woods, away from my companions, just as I had done the night after my father and my sister had died, but my body did not obey me.

Unable to move and caught in this senseless fear I could only curl up into a ball and hope that it would soon be over, that my tears would dry and that I would be able to draw a breath again. Then something happened that changed my condition, though through no merits of my own: Sharlih moved closer, lifted my blanket, slid under it, additionally covered us with his own and drew me into his strong arms. He caressed my hair and my cheeks, repeating the same words over and over “Shhhh, all is well. I am here. Shhh –“ Slowly, so very slowly I felt the pain inside me vanish, my trembling stopped, and I recovered my breath. Still, my tears continued, but Sharlih wiped them away, strengthened his hold on me and tried to align his breathing with mine to keep me from drawing to many and too shallow breaths. Only when he had succeeded and my tears had finally stopped, did I dare look at him. Still, his eyes were full of love mixed with concern for me. In this moment I became indifferent to the world, living only for him. I knew I had to get closer to him, to show myself that he survived if I did not wish to run the risk of falling back into this all-consuming fear from which he had just torn me.

I forgot about our companions and started to kiss him, cautiously like a butterfly, when our lips met at first. But soon that was no longer enough for me and I deepened my kiss, let my tongue slide over his mouth, asking for entrance which was granted me. I tasted him, felt his warm hands that had slid under my hunting shirt move ceaselessly across my back. I reciprocated by undoing the buttons of his shirt under the cover of our blankets and laid my fingers on his bare chest, searched for his heart-beat and let them rest on the spot where I had found it.

I cannot recall how much time had passed since we kissed, comforted and held each other. I only knew that I would have loved to stay like this forever, but in the end we had to part. For one, in order to draw breath again, for another, to escape being discovered by our companions.

“Thank you, Sharlih. I will be fine on my own again.” I finally declared. “It has passed.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I will stay with you. The night’s darkness still covers us; I need not leave you for now.”

Love like bright sunshine suffused me, and I felt the final shred of my fear leave my body when Sharlih asked me to turn around, so my back would rest against his chest. I yearned to remove my hunting shirt to lie with him bare skin to bare skin, but the danger of such a conspicuous movement might raise our companions’ suspicions was too great.

It had to suffice that I felt his warmth on my back, that I could let myself fall into his strong arms, that I would feel his breath on my hair. His nearness convinced me that he would never leave me.

“I thought I had lost you,” I spoke into the darkness. “I could not have borne it. I love you. You are my life and my light.”

“Shhhh,” repeated Old Shatterhand. “Just as you are mine. Nobody can tear me from your side. Now sleep, my brother, sleep.”

While he drew our blankets tighter around us, while his hands began to roam across my arm and my chest, my mind drifted into the darkness of a dreamless slumber – protected, sheltered, loved.


End file.
